The Rapunzel Notes
by SwallowingInk
Summary: "We are of one mind in all things...just as I intended it to be." The story of Rapunzel's fall from grace as related by Mother Gothel. Originally a one-shot for an English elective.


**So...all of you who have me on Author Alert, or are "following" me as it's now called (seriously, since when are we Twitter?), are probably thinking, "WTH is this? Where's the next chapter of _True Chosen_?" It's coming, I promise. Honestly. Stuff has happened that you're not interested in hearing about. Meanwhile, I was looking through my old writing and thought I might as well post this. I wrote it for an English elective I took two years ago, and I came across it and thought, "Hey! I should go post this on !" I don't expect anyone to read it. If you're still waiting for _True Chosen_, bless you for your patience and go about your business. :)**

**Still here? Oh, well then. This little bit is, essentially, the story of Rapunzel told from the witch's point of view. Have fun!**

The Rapunzel Notes

or

A Brief Collection of some of the Personal Writings of Lady Gothel

~136~

Today was the first day of spring. Although I find the season utterly disgusting, my customary visit to my daughter was good consolation.

Her hair has grown another inch since last week, making the braid an even sixteen feet. I complimented her on this immediately after I heard it. "It shines more like gold every day," I believe were my exact words.

"I've been playing a game recently," she confessed to me. "When I am finished fixing the braid every morning, I sit barely inside the windowsill and drop it out the window. The tail of it almost touches the ground now."

I smiled indulgently. "Don't leave it out too long," I chided. "Otherwise some curious animal will climb it like a vine and find its way inside the tower."

I stayed another half an hour, watching her as she brushed out her few loose, golden locks – her vanity and mine. I was never blessed with such beauty, such allure. It would do me no good now, of course, but I do take pride that my daughter exhibits such a trait.

I have noticed lately that often, when I look in on my dearest daughter, she is gazing longingly out her only window. I admit to being angry about this; after all, I have given her everything she could ask for. What more she could possibly want is a baffling question.

But she will never turn from me; I have given her no reason to do so. I have certainly given her a much better home than she would have had with that stumbling mess of a father who attempted to steal from me. Not only did he practice deceit by trying to steal from my garden, but he also did nothing after that day but whine about how I had ruined his life. The ungrateful little snarl – I could have taken his life right there, and that of his silly wife, too! Simple, disgusting ingratitude was all either of them was capable of displaying.

I suddenly recall the day that I moved her from my manor to her tower in the woods. She was eleven years old then, and that beautiful hair had just grown past her feet. I sat her down in front of me, and explained to her our situation. How there were many who were envious of my power. How she, as my daughter, would be a target of these people. How I had devised a way to protect her from all of our enemies.

"My darling jewel, my daughter," I said to her, "will you go to the tower?"

And my Rapunzel blinked up at me with those sky-blue eyes and replied, "If it please you, Mother Gothel."

And there lies the key of our relationship. What pleases me pleases her, just as what pleases her also pleases me. We are of one mind in all things. There is no disagreement, no struggle of wills. Our bond is perfect, just as I intended it to be.

~141~

Today I have seen something that displeases me greatly. It seems that my Rapunzel has found a new friend, a boy.

When I looked in on her through the mirror this morning, she was at her window as usual, singing. There was nothing out of place, nothing strange—until the voice, that is.

"Rapunzel? Hello-o? Rapunzel?"

The rich tenor comes from the ground below, and I am instantly reminded of Rohr. He had a voice like that, too—sweet as honey, and resonant as brass. It is a voice more tempting than the siren's song, I know from experience. It is a voice designed to hypnotize, to distract, to lead away.

I have utter faith, though, in my Rapunzel. How she answers the voice is proof of her loyalty.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" he calls.

"You are not Mother Gothel," she tells the voice. "And I shan't let you see my hair!"

Now that my immediate anger is past, I am pleased with my Rapunzel's answer. She knows how I have given everything to her, and she has listened to my lessons about the world and about my – our – many enemies.

The person below did not speak again, and it pleases me to think that he was so stunned by the answer he received that he left. If he has any shred of intelligence, he will not come back.

~149~

I have been betrayed by my very own.

It was no small fault of mine, I must admit. I held on to my words until the very end. I knew the prince had been visiting her; I knew she had been talking to him, absorbing his ideas. But I held my criticisms, foolishly believing that she would not turn from me. I, who have given her life, food, clothing, education, attention – everything she could have desired! And this – _this_ is how I am repaid? She stupidly casts me aside for a half-witted, chocolate-eyed boy who whispers sweet nothings into her ear!

When I saw her hiding the woven silk ladder under her mattress, I knew that the nonsense had gone far enough. I went on one of my surprise visits to the tower, to confront her about her "secret" visitor.

I arrived silently, and the girl was so absorbed in her thoughts that she did not hear me. She was at her desk, bent over a scrap of parchment and whispering to herself.

"As deep and full…no, 'wide' – as _wide_ as the ocean is my love…"

She was composing a poem. A _love_ poem. For him.

"Rapunzel," I said sharply. Alerted to my presence, she spun to face me and blushed deeply.

"What are you writing, my child?" I asked her.

"Nothing," she said innocently. "Just a note to myself."

I did not reply, but simply continued to study her. She was trying to look normal, unconcerned, even innocent. But her always-rosy cheeks were an even deeper red than usual, and her eyes twinkled with excitement and expectation.

"Why do you stare?"

I could feel my rage grow, my eyes widen, at this simple question. I, who know her better than anyone, and she dared lie to _me_? She feigns innocence when she has committed the deepest kind of betrayal? Arrogant enough to–

"Mother Gothel, is something wrong?"

"I don't know, Rapunzel. Why don't you tell me?"

Her eyebrows knit together the same way Rohr's did when he was confused, which only served to fuel my anger. "No, Mother Gothel. All is well."

"Oh? And what of that poem you are writing, then?"

I could see in her eyes that she understood what I intended to say, and she tried to rectify her mistake. "It was just a fancy of mine. Made up."

"Don't try to play me for a fool, child! I know whom you write for. I know that boy has been coming here to see you! Do you not remember why you are here? Did it not occur to you that he could be one of my enemies?"

"But Mother Gothel – "

"I'll have no more! You will _not_ speak to that boy again, Rapunzel!"

"If it please you, Mother Gothel." The words were familiar, but her true thoughts lay in her manner. Her voice was just as cold as the North Wind, her glare just as icy.

I knew then that I had lost her. This was not My Rapunzel. That _prince_ had taken her, and replaced her with some cheap imitation. _This_ Rapunzel was cold, defiant – ungrateful! I thought such a sin was beyond her – but then, I should have known better than to think I could teach any child of _theirs_ to be grateful!

In my fit of rage, a quiet clarity suddenly came upon me. I knew what I must do.

As I reached for the dagger I kept at my belt, the girl's eyes widened. She didn't think I meant to _harm_ her, did she?

"Turn around, Rapunzel."

Shaking, fearful, she did so. The smallest part of me was pleased – I hadn't failed entirely with her. She still remembered some vestige of obedience.

I wrapped my hand around the thick base of her golden braid, set the knife behind it, and pulled. The rope of hair landed on the floor with a soft 'thud.'

"You will leave this tower tonight. You will never again know the comforts of this home." She whipped around to look at me as her eyes filled with tears.

"No, Mother Gothel! Please!"

"Do not call me that," I whispered. "You are no daughter of mine."

Then I turned and disappeared to my manor, leaving her alone.

~151~

My plan has succeeded, and it is done. The prince has been put in his proper place. The world shall never know I had a daughter.

It was a joke I made that gave him the idea, of course. Something about an animal climbing my dear daughter's hair into her tower, which I spoke rather louder than I intended, became a moving plot against me. I had never expected the _animal_ in question to be a man. I would still say the suggestion was utter foolishness, if I hadn't seen the results for myself.

After placing Rapunzel a goodly distance from the tower, I knotted her severed braid around the torch bracket on the wall and hung it over the tower edge. I heard the intruder thundering towards the place on his horse at least a mile away. I sat at the desk and waited.

I can still see the look on his face when he clambered through the window, expecting to see a fair maiden, and found me instead. I think I shall savor it forever.

"What have you done with my dear Rapunzel?" he cried.

"Yours? She was never yours to begin with," I told the fool. "You will never again see Rapunzel."

Oh, the righteous indignation that statement conjured! "She never loved you, _Mother Gothel_," he informed me derisively. "You could never give her the things she wanted most."

How _dare_ he? How _dare_ he suggest that I had not given my daughter everything she could ever desire? Before I could even contemplate what action I should take, the silly boy was falling out the window.

He landed head first in the thorn thicket that was almost below the window. I think I may have blinded him. Good riddance.

I coiled up the braid, glanced one last time around the tower, and returned to my rooms in the manor to brood. I don't think I will ever bring myself to return there.

What disconcerts me most about this affair is my apparent weakness. I have not realized until now how clouded my judgment was concerning my daughter. Once again, I have trusted too much, and have paid for doing so.

I've now been fooled twice by this disgusting emotion that others call 'love.' They all speak of it as if it were some great thing. Only I know the truth. This 'love' is simply weakness, and I have had enough of weakness in my life. I have only room enough for strength.


End file.
